


Leaving the Lonely

by foxymandy3100



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin dealing with the effects of months in the Lonely, Overstimulation, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sickness, Supportive Jon, Whumps, mild panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymandy3100/pseuds/foxymandy3100
Summary: It would’ve been easier to stay in the lonely. Martin knew this. The lonely was comfortable, gentle, soft, and so very cold, cold enough that it made you not want to move, to be still, and just listen to the sounds of the ocean. It was an endless beach but there was no water there. You could’ve walked for miles and never come to the tide, but the sound of waves would greet you anyway. The Lonely was familiar, easy, and felt more like home than the apartment he had been raised in had. It was comfortable for him and staying there would’ve been second nature after months of practice in the archives. But Martin had never chosen the easy way before and with Jon’s hand in his, he would not start now.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Leaving the Lonely

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celosiaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/gifts).



> A second Secret Santa gift for Celosiaa. I'm far more pleased with this one and hope it makes you happy this holiday season!~ Merry Christmas and a very happy New Year.

It would’ve been easier to stay in the lonely. Martin knew this. The lonely was comfortable, gentle, soft, and so very cold, cold enough that it made you not want to move, to be still, and just listen to the sounds of the ocean. It was an endless beach but there was no water there. You could’ve walke d for miles and never come to the  tide, but the sound of waves would greet you anyway.  The Lonely was familiar, easy, and felt more like home tha n the apartment he had been raised in  had . It was comfortable for him and staying there would’ve been second nature after months of practice in the archives. But Martin had never chosen the easy way before and with J on’s hand in his, he would not start now. 

Leaving was hard, far harder than staying away from the others had been. He had expected avoiding Jon to hurt more than it had but after mourning him while he was in his coma and spending months distancing himself from people after his mother died Martin had all but forgotten what feeling anything was like. It was painfully easy to see Jon back in the Archives and walk the other way. He wished it had been harder, that his heart had skipped a beat for more than the sight of him. He wished he had felt love well up in his chest and had been able to forsake his mission right then and there for  him, but he didn’t. It was easier to leave him behind and continue his work with Peter Lukas. 

Despite the difficulties, when Jon reached out for him when he offered him the one thing  Martin had wanted his entire life, he left behind the comfort , the solitude, and the cold and crawled his way back into a world too bright and loud and populated  because it’s where Jon was. 

Martin clung to Jon’s hand and let himself be led. The world passed in a blur of “too much”. Overpowering his senses and le aving him a silent, coiled up wreck on the couch of Jon’s apartment as the other gathered his things. He ached to sink back into obscurity, to be unknown and unseen, to simply vanish back into the soft callings of the sea where  no one would find  him, but the shuffling sounds of Jon one room over reminded him of why he was there. 

Jon loved him. Jon wanted to be with him. He wanted a life with Jon and that was worth fighting for. 

So, he stayed. 

He stayed and he let himself work through his overstimulated thoughts and feelings and waited as patient as he had always been in the six  years, he had loved Jon.  He waited and held on to whatever was in his arm’s reach to ground himself in the world around him. He strained his ears for the sounds of traffic and people outside the window and wished he could block them out. He needed them as much as he needed to get away from them. 

Jon emerged from the bedroom and it felt like coming home. Warm hands braced his shoulders and Martin felt himself called into his arms where he was safe, far safer than he had been in the lonely. Jon wouldn’t let anything hurt him and he would protect Jon in ret urn. They could do this together. 

Nothing prepared Martin for riding the train without the veil of the lonely to protect him. It was painful. Every bump of someone knocking into him left his flesh burning like hot coals raking his skin. Every voice was nails against a chalkboard . He was drowning in the sea of lights, shaken about the metal compartment as they rode the underground to the end of the line. 

Hours felt like an eternity.  So Martin focused on the hand in his, the gentle press of a thumb to the back of his hand, massaging the skin and offering him a blessed place to land and rest the tired wings of his restless mind. He ached. He wanted it to end. It was taking so much out  of him to be around other people he could feel it physically draining him. His limbs felt heavy, stones tied to his wrists and ankles, cotton on his tongue keeping his words to himself, a bou lder in his stomach making him feel ill and shaky and he was so hot that sweat dripped icy down his spine. He was cold and hot and dizzy and wanted nothing more than to get away from the flurry of people who came in and out of the train at each passing station, brushing against him until he bit his cheek to hold back the scream that wanted to tear from him. H is mouth  tasted  of  blood and rage and  _ need _ . 

Time dragged on until finally, the cursed confinement was over and the first step out of the train station  felt like breathing again.  The road trip the rest of the way to  Scotland was easier. The only company was Jon and Martin actually felt something close to happiness when they passed a herd of highland cows on the way. He had spent a good twelve  minutes afterward  info-dumping everything he knew about the animals to Jon. He  was aware that Jon already  _ Knew _ all of what he told  him, but it made him feel so very loved to be allowed to simply talk about something he cared about with him. 

Martin realized with startling clarity that it was the longest conversation he had ever had with Jon. 

The sun had set by the time they arrived and had carried their suitcases inside. The sick feeling from the train had settled into his lower stomach and rested there, leaving him uneasy but not actively sick. Despite the glances Jon ke pt making at him Martin couldn’t bring himself to trouble the other with something as trivial as a sour  tummy, so he said nothing and focused on hanging up his jumpers in the closet on the  spartan wire hangers he had found in a drawer. 

They didn’t talk about the double bed in the  left-hand corner, pressed to the wall with a comfortable looking duvet on it. They simply understood that the couch was more of a love seat and thus not acceptable as a bed for either of them  so they would have to  make do . Martin was trying not to think about it. 

Some part of him thrilled at the idea of being able to be so close to Jon but the rest of him hesitated to share such an intimate space with anyone. All privacy was out the window like this. But they would just have  to  make do . It wasn’t something that could be changed and if he was so against it there was always the option of sleeping on the floor. He took one look at the hard wooden planks and banished the thought. 

The first night  lying beside him was hard, harder than leaving the lonely, possibly harder than taking the train. The pit in his stomach rested heavier by the moment as the small bed left little space between the m . He could feel Jon’s even breaths on the back  of his neck, a knee pressed to his thigh, an arm against his back where the other had sprawled out in his sleep. It was too much contact, too much comfort, and closeness and it made him ache. He sat up and quickly reached out for his an xiety medicine on the bedside table. He snagged it in his hand only for the bottle to fall right through his hold onto the floor when his hand decided to  cease being corporeal. 

Jon shifted but didn’t wake and Martin stood from the bed, snatching up the bottle from the floor along the way, and rushed across the room to the bathroom, locking himself inside with an audible click . Jon sat up slowly, blinking at the golden line from  under the door as he processed that Martin was not beside him. He rolled over, content to go back to sleep until he  heard the sound of quiet muffled coughs from inside the bathroom.  That worried him. 

He pulled himself from the bed and padded over to the bathroom door, knocking tentatively. 

“Martin, are you in there?” 

It was a dumb question, he realized, who else would be in there. There was a l i nger ing moment of silence before the door was opened and M artin stood before him looking miserable and ill. His skin was drained of color and his hair was paler than before, his eyes were dull and lifeless. He looked like he had in the lonely, devoid of  life and vigor. Jon felt his heart plummet into his stomach. 

Martin took a wobbling step forward, his body  weak and shaking with effort. 

“Jon, I think-… I need to--” 

“MARTIN!”

There was a loud thud as Martin collapsed to his hands and knees on the floor, hacking loudly. Jon rushed to grab the bathroom trash bin and dropped  painfully hard at Martin’s side, rubbing at his back soothingly as he fretted over the other. He was so cold to the touch it nearly burned Jon’s hand. 

The coughs became louder as  Martin’s entire body shook with the effort each raucous hack took.  Finally, Martin gripped at the bucket, feeling something coming up his throat but instead of the bile they both expected  he shuddered as rolling waves of fog were expelled from his body via his mouth. He choked on the cold vapor as it filled the room. Jon jumped to his feet and bolted over to open a window , afraid to let the room of their new home fall to the  L onely. 

By the time Jon returned to Martin’s side to help comfort him he noticed the changed in his  pallor . There was more color to his skin, his eyes held the life to them he had seen when the other was discussing the “good cows”, and his hair was nearly back to its warm  hay color.  Jon gently brushed his bangs away from his face and thrilled silently at the warmth he found in his skin. Martin’s illness hadn’t been a bad thing, after all, it had been his body trying to free him of the  L onely ’s hold over him . 

It took longer than either of them would’ve liked for the coughing to subside but once it  abated, they sat together, leaned back against the wall in each other’s arms, waiting for the fog to clear from the room.  Jon refused to allow Martin to be alone in that mist for even one minute.  He promised when he pulled him from the  L onely that Martin would never have to go back there  again, and he intended to keep that promise. Martin relaxed against Jon, closing his eyes and chasing off the chill of the fog with Jon’s body heat. Together they waited for  t he  L onely to  slip out the window into the night and once it was  gone, they stood, hand in hand, and climbed  back  into the bed. 

Martin laid there, wrapped in Jon’s arms, relishing in how the fear of closeness from before was still there but the horrid sinking  feeling that came  with it was blessedly absent. He was safe in Jon’s arms and as long as the other was there with him Martin didn’t have to worry about falling back to the Lonely.  But most importantly, he didn’t have to worry about wanting to. 

He wanted to be with Jon, and that would never change. 


End file.
